


Ghost In The Machine

by Tabi_essentially



Series: Reach The Sea [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunting, Kink Meme, M/M, Spooky, pasiv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabi_essentially/pseuds/Tabi_essentially
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20822.html?thread=51287894#t51287894">prompt on the kink meme:</a> <i>Anything in verse that is Halloween themed, and please let it be SPOOKY and eerie and not just them getting together for Halloween or taking kids trick or treating or something. I'd love an actual scary Halloween story.... In verse!</i></p><p>When a man dies while using the PASIV, his last  visions get recorded on the machine, forcing everyone who uses it to experience his death. Dom, Mal, and Arthur call Eames to rural New York in October to help them study an apparently haunted PASIV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost In The Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Not necessary to read the first part of this 'verse if you don't feel like it. This works as a standalone. 
> 
> **Warnings** : Brief mention of Arthur/past other. Canon-typical violence. Mild reference to PTSD. Brief, not-too-explicit scene of sexiness and naughtiness in part 2.
> 
>  **SELF-BETAd.** I'm rushing to get this entire thing posted before I lose power in the hurricane, so please, if you find any mistakes, let me know! I'll fix them when power returns (if we lose it, which seems likely.)

** ** ** **

 

Cobb was the only one who ever rang Eames before eight AM. It wasn't that Cobb didn't know about their differing time zones, it was just that he woke up at around six, and expected that everyone just naturally did the same. 

It was 7:15. Eames wasn't even ready to move yet. He turned the volume off on the phone. It vibrated again at 7:45. Eames got up and took a shower. He made coffee and toast, and ate it while he looked at the news on the internet. 

When he came back to the phone, he saw that Cobb had called again. Finally, at around ten, Eames rang him back.

"Hope I didn't wake you," was the first thing Cobb said. Bastard.

"You did," Eames said. "Twice."

"Right. So listen, Eames, we could really use some input on something that has come up. I think you'll find it interesting. We haven't told too many people about it, first of all because it's so weird, but really more because we just don't know what we're dealing with."

Christ. The last time he'd heard something like that from Cobb, it had to do with trying to hook the PASIV up to a dog, to see what it dreamed. It was completely harmless to the dog, but also a good example of Cobb's occasionally useless insanity. 

"Not sure of my availability," Eames said.

"See," Cobb went on, as if he hadn't spoken, "Arthur thinks there must be a logical explanation for what's going on. But we haven't been able to come up with one. And Mal can't go under because of the pregnancy. We were just hoping..."

Arthur. He hadn't seen Arthur since last year. Well, maybe just under a year, because it was—he checked the date on his phone, tuning Cobb out—October twentieth, and he'd seen Arthur last November. So, almost a year.

Eames wouldn't say it hadn't ended well, because first of all, nothing necessarily bad had happened between them, but mostly, well, there was nothing to really end. Nothing had happened at all.

"...get some fresh eyes because everyone's experience seems to be similar..." Cobb went on.

Last November, Mal had called Eames in to help with an extraction. It was a legal one, because the Cobbs, and Arthur, didn't lower themselves to the illegal stuff. The job itself had been boring, but not bad. They'd worked out of a classroom, of all things.

Arthur had shown up with his chemist boyfriend, Luke. Big, tall, British, and with satiny brown skin and sloe eyes. Arthur had been nothing but friendly, even lovely to Eames. Eames watched for the whole week as Luke doted on Arthur, bringing him coffee on some mornings, occasionally stopping by just to say hello. One time he'd brought Arthur a candy apple. Another time, he'd brought him an egg salad sandwich, with a little, pink carnation tucked into the bag. Eames had walked into the classroom one time to find Arthur leaning back in the chair while Luke rubbed at his scalp and temples, Arthur sighing happily, content. Another time, he'd caught them snogging in the hallway like students.

"...someone with your experience and your imagination, Eames, just as a contrast to Arthur, who can sometimes be, you know..."

It wasn't like he and Arthur had any real romantic history. They had _history_ , but nothing that would prevent either of them from seeing anyone else. They'd been through some shit together. Luke treated Arthur well, and that was great, Eames was happy about that. But Luke hadn't escaped a military compound with Arthur. They hadn't run for their lives together while cars exploded in their wake. They hadn't dug bullets out of each other, or nursed each other's wounds, or trusted each other with their lives. At least, Eames didn't think they had. 

Which was good. It was probably what Arthur needed: something normal, something stress-free. Fuck knows that was how Eames liked it. He didn't blame Arthur at all.

"...PASIV somehow getting stuck in a loop, with everyone experiencing the same exact thing, independent of each other's reports..."

In fact, it was better for both of them. Arthur with his steady boyfriend who treated him well, and Eames with his occasional sex friends ("fuck buddies" was too vulgar.) 

"...the neurological expression of the deceased somehow still in the PASIV..."

Besides, it was Eames who had turned Arthur down. Well, in a way. At the time.

"...projection keeps showing up even if it's a completely new dreamer, going under alone, and... Eames, are you still there?"

"Erm." Quickly, Eames went through the bits and pieces that he'd caught, piecing them together. A PASIV device stuck in a loop, showing the same exact projection (and possibly something else) to everyone, which seemed to be the neurological expression of someone deceased.

"You're telling me you've got a haunted PASIV?"

"See," Cobb said, "that's the exact phrase that keeps pissing Arthur off. And he's pissier than usual since his break up."

"I'm not sure that I can even begin to... A haunted PASIV does sound interesting."

"I thought it might," Cobb said. "We're in New York. Book a flight and let me know when you land. I'll have Arthur pick you up."

** ** ** **

As much as he tried not to, Eames stood out in the crowd. At least he did to Arthur. Maybe other people didn't notice the slouchy guy in baggy jeans and a baseball cap with the brim pulled low, carrying his one suitcase, but Arthur would recognize his distinctive walk anywhere. It set his stupid nerves jittering. He hadn't seen Eames in almost a year.

When Eames was within reach, Arthur held out his hand. Eames took it, drew him in, and kissed his cheek. Caught unawares, Arthur managed to kiss the air beside his ear.

"Hello, darling," Eames said.

"Hey. How was your flight?" It was a stupid question, but what else did you say when someone just got off the plane?

"Uneventful," Eames said. "How was your last rotation around the sun?"

"Uneventful," Arthur said, which was true enough in some ways, and a total lie in others. "Just a lot of work and research."

"Of course," Eames said. "Always toiling away, Arthur."

Arthur wanted to tell him, hey, he'd ended his only adult relationship that had actually lasted more than a few months; his life wasn't just work. But he was the one who had said it was uneventful, so getting defensive would only be petty. He kept his mouth shut.

Then Eames said, "You look good."

Arthur felt the flush of knowing that Eames was being maybe a little more than polite; he felt his eyes on him, and a little bit of desire in those words, possibly. Or maybe he was imagining it.

"Thanks," he said. He _had_ been working out, against Mal's advice, at first: ' _No, Arthur! Skinny boys in tight trousers are so nice. Don't get too muscular._ ' Cobb had scowled at her for that one, even though Cobb was one of those skinny boys too. Then Arthur had told her that he was learning Krav Maga and some Kung Fu, and she'd relented. She thought that was a good idea. You never know when you're going to run into someone dangerous. 

"Umm, you look good too," Arthur said, even though he was now making an effort to not look at Eames, because he could feel his face heating up. "How's your Mom?"

"Fabulous, as always," Eames said.

"Tell her hi for me." He hadn't met Eames's Mom under the best of circumstances—he and Eames had been fleeing from the military—but she had been vital to their escape. And she was pretty fabulous.

When they got to the car, Arthur opened the bag of bagels he'd picked up on the way, and handed it to Eames. "Sorry they're not that hot anymore, but they're still good."

"You do think of everything," Eames said.

"I think of bagels. Especially when I'm in New York. Best in the world."

Eames spread some cream cheese on one as Arthur started the car. "You're from New York, aren't you?"

"That's right," Arthur said. "East of the city, though." And that was all he was willing to offer. Being in the armed forces—and being plugged into the PASIV for days while they tried to extract information from him—had made him tight when it came to giving out information. Anyway, Eames knew where Arthur was from. It was obvious he was just making conversation.

"So," Eames said, once they were out of the parking lot, "I hear you've got yourselves a haunted PASIV."

"Oh, Christ. Please tell me Cobb didn't say that."

"No, he used all of the fancy terms, but that's what it comes down to, isn't it?"

Arthur scoffed.

"What? You don't believe in ghosts?"

"Eames, really."

"Well, why not?"

"How about," Arthur said, "I don't know, the fact that they don't actually exist? Every ghost story has a logical explanation if you look hard enough. It's just that most people don't go looking for explanations. They're anecdotal. They're supposed to be just for fun."

"And we can't have that, can we?"

"That argument is meaningless. Fun is great, but you can't get to the point of mixing fantasy with reality. Don't tell me you believe in ghosts, Eames?"

Eames smiled. "I'll tell you after I have a go with the haunted PASIV. Have you tried it?"

"Yeah, of course." He had gone under with the _malfunctioning_ PASIV and it had left him shaken, as it had left everyone. "But I can't tell you about my experience. You're the control group. We have to see if yours is exactly the same without any foreknowledge."

"Oh, I love having experiments run on me."

"No one is forcing you." He glanced at Eames, serious. "If you're uncomfortable with it, say so now. No one wants to put you on the spot."

"Nah," Eames said. "You and Cobb did it, and you're both fine. I'm game."

Yes. Arthur was fine, of course he was. He'd had some nightmares since then, and some other experiences, but he doubted those were related to the PASIV. Should he tell Eames about those? Give him some warning? Or would that skew the results? No, of course he had to tell him. He'd have to be a total dick not to. 

"You are fine, aren't you?" Eames asked.

"I'm okay. Cobb asked me not to talk about any of our results at all, so we could get a better idea about how much is the same and how much is personal experience. But I will say that it's not pleasant. And I got some pretty bad dreams after it. Ones that I think about during the day, still. So yeah, it's unpleasant. Can you handle that?"

"I think," Eames said, "that I could handle a nightmare or two in the interest of furthering our knowledge."

They drove through the town where Arthur grew up. A few miles inland, and they'd be at his old house. If Eames recognized the town name from his dossier, he didn't mention it. He turned the radio on and half-heartedly tapped his fingers against his knees to whatever was playing. 

After about a half an hour, Arthur realized that Eames had been silent for a while. He looked over to find him asleep against the window. Arthur drove on, occasionally sneaking glances at him. It was ridiculous, how good-looking Eames was, with his long eyelashes and straight slope of a nose. Arthur knew that up close his eyes were grey, with flecks of darker blue, maybe even green in them. And his mouth, well – Arthur had kissed him once, shortly after they'd first met. It hadn't gone well. He tried to brush it off as just one of those silly mistakes, but the thought of it still made him flush warm with embarrassment to this day. Well, never again. No matter how much he would like to. He decided to concentrate on the road, instead of acting like an idiot and getting them both killed because Eames was pretty.

The buildings and strip malls lining the road gave way to pine barrens. Arthur turned off the expressway and onto the backroads, heading east.

It was late afternoon by the time they got to the little rental cottage. Dom and Mal, with Arthur assisting, had done well enough to afford a waterfront cabin for their research. They only had it for a month. What Arthur liked best about it was that it was out of the way, and private. 

He turned off the car and nudged Eames awake.

Eames stretched, scratched his fingers through his hair and looked around. It was chilly, in that raw, northeast October sort of way. The sky was a dull slate, and the water lapped softly at the pier. "Mmm," Eames said. "This is cute."

"It's quiet," Arthur said. "People leave you alone out here."

He took Eames's bag from the back, despite Eames's protests that he would get it himself, and led him to the cottage.

Mal and Dom's car wasn't in the drive; they'd probably gone out for groceries or something. Arthur showed Eames to his room. The window opened to a view of the sound. The day was dreary, but Arthur sort of liked the mellow mood it set. 

"This is lovely," Eames said, setting his suitcases on the bed. "Only two bedrooms? I'm not chasing you out, am I?"

"No, we expected you. I've been sleeping on the futon in the living room, since I get up earlier than everyone else anyway."

"Mind if I wash up? I smell like an airplane."

"No, go right ahead."

"Then, after, I'll have a look at that PASIV if you don't mind."

"Don't you want to rest a little?"

"Slept in the car. Must admit I'm curious to meet this ghost." His smile betrayed that he'd just said that to annoy Arthur. Arthur obliged him by rolling his eyes.

"I'll get it set up, then."

** ** ** **

The PASIV looked no different to any other PASIV Eames had seen, but then he hadn't expected it to. As Arthur helped set him up (and Eames was perfectly capable of doing it himself, but he didn't stop Arthur from fussing, because that was what Arthur did,) he could tell that Arthur had something on his mind that he was struggling with.

Finally, before pressing the button, he said, "I'm not supposed to give you any information. But I'd be a dick if I didn't warn you that this gets unpleasant. You might wake up feeling sick."

"I can handle it," Eames assured him.

With a nod, Arthur pressed the button, and Eames fell into the dream.

It wasn't that unpleasant, at least the beginning. He was lying down, on his side, looking out a window at some sunlit trees. It wasn't his dream. That wasn't entirely an alien feeling to him, except he knew he'd gone under alone. It _should_ have been his dream. 

He tried to get up. Couldn't. In fact, he couldn't move at all. The only thing Eames was able to do was blink his eyes, and even then, not when he wanted to. He'd had people in his head countless times, but he'd never been hijacked like this. 

After a brief, futile struggle, he decided to go with it. Arthur and Cobb had done this, and been no worse for wear. It was a malfunctioning PASIV, that was all, no matter that he had teased Arthur about ghosts. And it would probably be over soon.

Eames watched the sun sink behind the trees and was overcome with such a feeling of weakness and despair that he wanted to cry out. He heard birds singing in the distance. His eyes blinked without his permission and he felt wetness on his cheeks. The dream wanted him to scream, begged for the kick, but nothing changed. 

From between the trees, a figure came into view. Tall, male, and wearing a dark suit. He couldn't make out any features. The figure closed in on him until all he could see was the black of his suit. 

And then a bright light burst into his vision, blinding. He imagined it as the sun breaking through the trees one last time before it set. He heard a hiss, or a whisper, some noise he couldn't identify.

And then nothing. Dark and quiet. _This is what it is to die,_ he thought.

He opened his eyes slowly, so grateful to have his body back that he sat up too quickly. Nausea hit him straight away. 

"It's' okay," Arthur said. He had his hand against Eames's chest, gently urging him back down to the bed. "You're awake, it's all right." Arthur's hand went to his wrist where he rested it, a firm pressure that Eames was grateful for. "I have a glass of water for you when you're ready."

Eames nodded, unable to give any other answer. His head swam and his stomach was still roiling. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears trickle down his temples and into his hair. He felt slightly less ashamed knowing that everyone else had had the same reaction. 

"I'm all right," he said, even though he wasn't. Exhaustion weighed him down. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the horror of not being able to move kept him from succumbing. 

Arthur squeezed his wrist. "I'll give you a few minutes. I'll just be in the next room when you're ready, okay?"

Again he nodded. Arthur took his hand away from his arm, and a few seconds later, Eames heard the door swing nearly-closed. In the silence, he could no longer deny sleep. 

When he awoke, it was to hushed voices from the next room, male and female. He dragged his aching eyes open and looked out the window. It was late afternoon. He must have been asleep for a couple of hours. He felt like he'd been hit by a lorry, and could not shake the sensation of slipping away. But he felt less like puking, at least, and more like getting up. He forced his arse up and to the living room.

Arthur and Mal stood in the little kitchenette, Arthur unpacking groceries that Mal had brought. 

"Oh, it's William," Mal said when she saw him. "Or Eames now, I suppose."

She greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, and an embrace. He wasn't as close with her as Arthur was—she and Arthur were cousins, and had spent childhood summers together—but he had known her since his university days. She was a little more subdued than he remembered. A little pale, a little thinner than last year. 

"You're looking lovely," he told her anyway, because she still did.

"Shush," she said. "You'll think differently when my vomiting is keeping you awake at night. The morning sickness hits me at any time of day. I spend a lot of time with my face in the toilet."

"Thanks for the visual, Mal," Arthur said.

"And Arthur here is so supportive," she said, patting his arm. 

"I thought pregnancy was cute and nice."

"Who taught you these monstrous lies?" Mal asked.

Eames watched this casual exchange, and caught Arthur's smile. Eames hadn't seen much of that smile, although to be fair, they hadn't met under the best of circumstances. Arthur had dimples. And his hair had gotten long, curling around his ears and at his neck. It was ridiculous, how much Eames suddenly wanted to kiss him while twining a lock of his hair around his finger. He quickly looked away.

Dom came in next, struggling with a canvas bag of groceries in one arm, and a pumpkin in the other. "Oh, hey, Eames," he said. He plonked the pumpkin on the table, shook Eames's hand, and pulled a chair up to the counter.

"So I assume you've already had a try with the PASIV?"

"Err, yeah," Eames said.

Arthur cut his eyes to Eames, giving him a knowing smirk and head-shake. _Typical Dom._

"Okay, let's talk about your experience. Arthur, take notes."

Arthur pulled out a little moleskin notebook and a pen from his bag. He took a seat next to Mal and flipped a few pages.

"You ought to get a laptop," Eames said.

"I've got one. I just like writing better. Helps me think."

"Go ahead and describe what happened," Dom said. "Leave nothing out."

Eames sat at the other side of the counter and began. He described the entire experience, from what he saw, to the sensation of not being able to move. "It was such a feeling of despair," he told them. "It wasn't my own, I can tell. We all feel things like that differently, and I know how I feel despair. This was someone else's."

"The dark figure you saw," Dom said, "did you get a look at its face?"

"No, strangely enough. It didn't seem to have one."

Dom looked over to Arthur. "Got all that?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Read me the key words that match up."

Arthur flipped a few pages back and recited: "Sunlight. Trees. Birds. Hijacked. Despair. Burst of light. Hiss, or whisper. Dark, or darkness."

"Uh huh," Dom said. "That's pretty much it." He turned to Eames. "See, Arthur went under first and took notes on what he experienced. He was going to tell me, but I asked him not to. After I tried it, I told him what I had seen and felt. We compared and found that not only was the experience exactly the same, in the same sequence, but we had used the same words to describe it."

"I wish I could try," Mal said. "It sounds so intense."

"It is," Eames told her. "But I wouldn't recommend it, even to quell your curiosity." 

"And how did you feel after you woke up?" Dom continued.

"Ill. Heartsick. Nauseous and exhausted."

Arthur scribbled his words down and then read back, "Sick, tired, profoundly sad or depressed."

Dom clapped his hands once, as if in victory.

"But what does this solve?" Eames asked. "We still know nothing about the PASIV, or am I wrong?"

"We do know some," Mal said. "More information that Arthur was to keep from you. We know who used it, and some of what happened."

Arthur looked up at Eames from his moleskin and mouthed the word, _'Sorry.'_ Eames gave him a small smile and a shrug. 

"Arthur?" Dom prodded.

"Uhh, yeah." He flipped a few more pages. "The man who died while using this PASIV was Nathan Eliot. The job was a militarization of a corporate manager named John Toro. The other person hooked up to the machine at the time of Eliot's death was his partner, George Malick. We highly suspect that Eliot was killed, we're just not sure by whom. John Toro, the client, said he did get militarized, but he was found a week later with a bullet in his head. It looked like a suicide." Arthur held up a hand as if someone was about to interrupt him. "We're not concerned about that a side effect of experiencing Eliot's death, because Toro was not attached to the PASIV when Eliot died. He was already out of the dream."

"And the partner?" Eames said. "Malick?"

"Disappeared," Arthur said. "Either Malick or Toro killed Nathan Eliot. We think—and this is just a hypothesis—that the bright burst of light you see towards the end is the killer opening Eliot's eye to shine a light into it, check his pupils for a reaction or something. We can't figure out why he was seeing trees or hearing birds though, since he was in an office high rise. Our only guess is that his brain took over as he was dying, and that maybe it was a memory of his, or something. Eliot did grow up on a farm. Anyway, coroner's report said that Eliot died from an overdose of potassium chloride. The PASIV was handed over to Miles, who never tried it. He gave it to us."

"And the whisper?" Eames asked.

"An actual whisper, maybe," Cobb answered.

"Or the hiss of the PASIV," Arthur said.

"I have a question," Eames said. He stood up and paced a little. He didn't yet know what the question was, but it was coming to him. "Right," he said, when he got it. "What would you consider to be the heart of the PASIV?"

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "The _heart_ of the PASIV?"

"Yes, Arthur, the heart. Surely you've heard of the concept?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's a machine. Are we back on ghosts and spirits now?"

"The compounds," Mal said. "They do the actual work. They let us create the dream. But we've already changed compounds."

"No," Dom said. Now he stood up to pace with Eames. "No, it's got to be in the PASIV itself. The thing that makes everyone dream together, that connects the machine to the mind."

"The synchronization chip," Mal said.

"Have you got another PASIV?" Eames asked.

"Oh no, we can't!" Mal said, as she caught on to his idea. "That could destroy it. The results would change and we might never get them back."

"Is the malfunctioning PASIV doing anyone any good?" Eames asked.

"He's kind of right," Arthur added. 

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?" 

"I mean, I think we already have all the data we're going to get from the PASIV, and it's pretty useless outside of just being a curiosity. We could try switching the chips, see what happens. We could try both PASIVs then, and see if it's the chip or something else."

"What do you think, Mal?" Dom asked.

She thought it over, and finally nodded. "What good is a mystery if we never find out the solution? Yes, let's experiment."

Arthur retrieved a screwdriver from out of his bag. Eames had never been good at the assembly of the thing, but apparently Arthur knew what he was doing.

"No, all wrong," Mal said, taking the screwdriver from Arthur. "The people going into the dreams, they shouldn't switch the chips. I'll switch them. Then I'll leave the room while you choose. The dreamers won't know which PASIV they have and I won't inadvertently give hints as to which is which. A blind study. Then we will have a more accurate result without expectations."

"Good thinking," Dom said. "Arthur?"

"I'll go wait in the other room," Arthur said.

"I'll take this dream, Eames," Dom said. "It's probably better if you don't do it twice in a row like this."

Eames agreed, but wondered silently why it was always Arthur going under, no matter what. But it was none of his business to ask. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't even brought this up. He didn't like the feeling he was getting, and the experiment hadn't even begun yet.

** ** ** **

Arthur wondered, naturally, which PASIV he had. If he looked closely enough, he could probably discern the differences. The one they usually used had nicks and scratches that he knew by heart. But that would defeat the purpose, so he avoided looking at the machines.

He felt awkward. That wasn't uncommon when he was around Dom and Mal and they were acting romantic, but it was worse with Eames around. Mal set Dom up on the PASIV, then sat beside him, running her fingers through his hair while Arthur got himself set up. Eames was sitting beside Arthur, holding his moleskin notebook.

Arthur cleared his throat and said, "Am I going to be able to read your handwriting?"

"We'll see."

"I don't let just anyone write in that book, you know. It's kind of an honor."

"I cherish it."

Arthur considered making some kind of joke about how he didn't need Eames to pet his hair or anything, but decided that would only make it worse.

"Sure you're all right with this?" Eames asked.

"Yeah. It's no problem. Why, are you scared that the ghost is going to get pissed off that we broke it in half?"

Eames didn't laugh or offer a snarky reply. He just sat there looking at the PASIV, clearly troubled.

"All right," Dom said. "Let's go."

Before Arthur could question Eames any more, Mal pressed the both buttons, and Arthur sank into the dream.

He recognized immediately that it was his own dream, meaning, he assumed, that Dom had gotten the PASIV with the malfunctioning chip. He was on a street that he created by default, one he had trained to set up automatically. It was a typical city street, lined with uninteresting buildings, nothing too jarring, nothing that would stand out. Even the light was uniform throughout. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't ugly, it was just a grey street, populated by his projections. A starting point. Arthur took a few steps. Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen for a few minutes. His projections passed him by, made up of faces and clothes that he had seen in the last few weeks, each of them unremarkable. 

A feeling of unsteadiness hit him and he looked down to the ground. There were cracks in the concrete, nothing unusual, just little details that the mind filled in. But looking at them made him feel dizzy.

Then the cracks began to spread and the ground shifted beneath him. Arthur looked back up. One of his buildings was gone, and in its place stood an oak tree, backlit by dying sunlight. The ground continued to split. Arthur turned back, intending to run the other way. The shifting landscape knocked him off his feet. He scrambled up, or tried to. His limbs felt heavy, dragged down by some unseen force. Or maybe – no. Not dragged down. Just weak. He heard birds singing.

Every way he turned showed him the two landscapes colliding, trees merged with buildings, sometimes growing out of them. 

His projections didn't react well to this. They panicked, turning on each other, as if they couldn't find the intruder that they needed to destroy. The dream spun out of his control.

From between one of the sunlit trees and one of his own buildings, the figure in black approached. 

_Concentrate,_ Arthur told himself. _You have more control than you did last time._ And it was true. He could keep his eyes open, he could move at will, although sluggishly. He wasn't forced to stay in one position, staring at a dying man's hallucination. He could focus on the dark figure.

He looked at the face and recoiled in horror. There was no face. Just a smooth, featureless flesh-scape. He couldn't keep staring at it, so he looked at the hands instead. One of them was holding something. He couldn't make out the shape of it.

Arthur backpedaled wildly, unwilling to turn his back on it, and ended up colliding with a tree. When he turned to run in another direction, the figure was upon him.

The bright burst of light blinded him. It no longer looked like the sun gleaming one last time before setting, it was just a harsh, white light that lanced through his skull. He felt a hand gripping his head. He couldn't turn away, couldn't shut his eyes, and couldn't breathe. He was experiencing Eliot's death again, only as himself, lucid, aware, and with his own fear. And he could do nothing to stop it.

The dream ejected him violently and Arthur found himself on the floor, flailing rather than getting up. His vision was hazy, his head swam and he couldn't draw enough breath into his lungs no matter how hard he tried, how deeply he breathed. He heard voices – Mal, mostly, saying, "It's all right, you're awake," but couldn't orient himself in her direction. 

A hand gripped his arm, large and strong. _Eames._

"I've got you," Eames said, helping him up, steadying him.

The room tilted and Arthur caught a glimpse of the ceiling before darkness ate the edges of it.

Eames caught him. Arthur walked, still unable to see through the black spots, as Eames led him to the sofa. Once he was on it, he sank down onto his side.

"I need a minute," he managed.

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard the unmistakable sound of Dom vomiting in the bathroom. Interesting. Both machines had malfunctioned.

That was the only way Arthur was willing to think of it. It was a technical malfunction, and nothing more. It didn't explain exactly why one PASIV had clung to a dying man's last memory, but stranger things had happened. Shared dreaming being one of them. Just a machine, doing something as-yet unexplainable. No ghosts. Even the faceless dark figure could be explained, eventually.

Someone sat on the sofa. He knew it wasn't Eames. Mal's familiar hand came to rest on his head, petting softly like she had done with Dom earlier. Arthur opened his eyes. Eames was sitting in chair across from them, looking fretful and worried. Arthur focused a little more on where Eames's gaze was directed, because he could have sworn that he was watching Mal's hand slide across his hair. Eames's own hands curled and uncurled against his legs. 

_Interesting. What's that about?_

"Is Dom all right?" Arthur asked.

"Yes. Well, he's vomiting, so I decided to leave him alone before he got me started. We don't want a chain of events."

Arthur laughed weakly.

"And you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It was fucked up, but I'm all right."

"It's quite Victorian, really," Eames commented.

"How so?" Arthur tried to make his voice sound strong, even though he didn't trust himself to get vertical yet. 

"When the Whitechapel Murders and Jack The Ripper and all of that was going on, they believed that they might be able to see the last thing a dying person saw in a preserved and dissected eye, as if the retina were a camera. Optograhy, it was called."

"Bullshit," Arthur said.

"Is it? We've got a machine here that somehow recorded the last thoughts and visions of a dying man."

"The human eye isn't a camera," Arthur said with more strength. "Images are interpreted and preserved in the brain. The eye is just a lens. That's like saying you could look into the lens of a camera and see the last picture it took. You need the _film_. Second, the PASIV is a machine. Machines can and do record things that are playable to a second party."

"Proving that technology is capable of things that at first seem impossible," Eames said.

Arthur sat up, feeling the blood return to his head and limbs. He still felt shaky, but somewhat revived. "Your argument is specious. Sure, technology can accomplish a lot of crazy things, but it couldn't back in the eighteen hundreds, and anyway, this doesn't explain what the fuck is going on with the PASIV. With both of them, now."

Eames just tilted his head to the side and smiled at him. Arthur had always had trouble figuring him out when he was like this. Well, he'd always had trouble in general.

Dom came back into the room, looking pale but cleaned up. He sat heavily on the sofa next to Mal, dropped his head onto the back of the couch, and seemed unable to lift it again. Mal took his hand. 

"Who had the one with the chip?" Dom asked.

"Arthur." She tucked his hair behind his ear as she said it, the scratch of her nails familiar against his scalp. 

Arthur glanced over at Eames, to once again find him following the motion of Mal's hand.

"Did you see his face?" Dom asked.

"No," Arthur said. "Did you?"

Dom shook his head. "Let's compare."

Arthur told his story, and Dom nodded enthusiastically when their dreams meshed, adding his own details about his dreamscape and how it had fallen apart.

"It didn't really fall apart," Arthur said. "It split in half, more like. The other dream—the one I couldn't control—it intruded, kind of shoving its way in."

"Same," Dom said. "And the dark figure thing, did you see what it was holding?"

"No, but I saw the flash of light, so I thought maybe it was a penlight or something."

"So what we need to do now," Dom said, "is to put the chip back in the correct PASIV, and retest both of them."

"Not today, I think," Eames said. "I'm sure I'd never tell the rest of you what to do, but I think once is enough for me for today. Consider that you two might have had enough for one day, too."

"Yeah, I agree," Arthur said. Eames gave him a small smile.

Dom tilted his head to look at Mal. She nodded.

"Tomorrow, then," Mal said. "Today, we rest."

** ** ** **

The next day dawned rainy and raw. Eames awoke in his room to grey light filtering in through the picture window. The smell of coffee seeped in through the door, though the house was mostly quiet. He got up, showered, and went into the kitchen.

Of course it was Arthur, up and dressed at 8, and putting the two PASIVs back together. He'd already placed a cup of coffee on the counter, and nodded to it when he saw Eames.

"Thanks," Eames said, taking a seat. 

"Still a little jetlagged?"

"Yes, a bit."

"Well, there's not much going on today," Arthur said, "so you can just relax. We're just going to run a few more tests with these, and then pretty much do nothing for the rest of the day."

"I'm not sure I'm up to using the haunted one again," Eames said.

Arthur made a big show of sighing in exasperation. " _Malfunctioning_ one. And you don't have to. But if you don't mind a run-through with the normal one, that would help. Other than that, there's not much to do around here."

"That's all right," Eames said. "Change of pace and all." It wasn't much of a change of pace, actually, since he hadn't worked much at home, either. Even the weather reminded him of England. "And the _malfunctioning_ PASIV? Who's the lucky chap who gets another go at that?"

"That'll be me."

Eames took a sip of his coffee. It was still hot, and strong. "Why you?"

"Cobb's busy. He's helping Mal and stuff."

"I see." He didn't see, but it wasn't really his business. Maybe that was just how they did things as a team. He also found it interesting that when they were working, Cobb was "Cobb" to Arthur, but when they were talking about dinner or the weather, he was "Dom."

An hour later, Cobb and Mal were up and dressed, and Arthur had made breakfast for everyone. Then he set about cleaning out both PASIV devices thoroughly. He sprayed them with pressurized air, ran saline through the infusion lines and cannulas, and wiped everything down. Once he was done, they were ready to get started. 

Arthur showed no apprehension as he hooked himself up to the PASIV with the restored chip. He was quick and efficient, and settled himself on the sofa, waiting for Mal to press the button. Eames was on the good PASIV, but was still worried that something might have perhaps stuck around in it. He'd seen how thoroughly Arthur had cleaned them, but whatever was going on with these machines didn't have anything to do with toxins or leftover fluids. He was sure of it.

"Don't try for anything specific," Cobb instructed him. "Just do what you normally do when you're going under, and try not to think about the other machine."

"Right," Eames said. He didn't get a chance to add anything further before Cobb pushed the button.

He dreamed of the desert, of a burning hot sun, and an oasis, complete with a pristine palm tree to the side of it. There were no signs of any other trees, sunsets, or menacing figures in black.

A feeling of urgency prompted him to look up, where he saw Arthur falling from the sun, on fire. Eames made it in time to catch him. Arthur's fire burned him too, as he carried him to the oasis and waded into it with him. The water doused the fire and Arthur's hair fanned out around his face. Eames touched the tendrils of it.

Certainly a strange dream, a completely natural dream, but one that he was aware of as it was happening. This was always the case with him. He could still tap into his unconscious and let it take its own course, while remaining completely lucid. Later, he might take some time to figure out what his brain was telling him (probably not too difficult – he knew about Arthur's history in the military, and his unfortunate meeting with a car bomb,) but for now he was just relieved that the dreams from the malfunctioning PASIV had not intruded. 

He woke up feeling fairly normal, although with a strange, lingering sense of protection towards Arthur. It was fucked up, the way dreams brought the most unexpected things to the surface.

Arthur woke up in a panic and feeling like shit, so obviously the bad PASIV was still bad. He tried to take part in the following conversation, but soon asked if he could borrow Eames's bed to sleep it off.

"Yes, of course," Eames told him.

Arthur dragged his sorry arse into the next room, leaving Eames, Cobb and Mal to discuss what to do next.

"I say we leave it be," Eames said. 

"Why?" Dom asked.

"Because what more can you do with it? It does the same exact thing each time. The PASIV is stuck. It's broken. Using it over and over again to confirm this isn't helping anything. You've had three different people try it, independent of each other, with the same result. Are you truly expecting something to change?"

"We can still learn from it, Eames," Dom said.

"Learn what? And how? I'm not suggesting you get rid of it, but honestly, what can you hope to accomplish right now?"

Mal sighed. "I just wish I could try it."

"Then hold onto it until after you have the baby, and start your experiment again."

"But that's such a long time to wait for knowledge."

Eames remembered this Mal from university. Always pushing for more, to go further, to try the next new thing. She always put herself in the front line back then. And she probably would again, once she was able to. He liked her because she was brilliant, but when she got like this, he wondered who she was eventually going to take down with her. The irrational part of him that couldn't shake the dream he'd just had said, _Let it be Cobb and not Arthur._ The rational part of his brain then warned him to run as far and as quickly away from Arthur as possible.

By the time Arthur woke up again, Cobb and Mal had left for a late lunch date. Eames had been amusing himself playing solitaire with a deck of cards he'd found in a drawer, and wondering if he was creepy for thinking of Arthur sleeping on the sheets he'd be sleeping on later.

"Feeling any better?" Eames asked.

"Yeah," Arthur answered with a yawn. "Sorry to leave you by yourself."

"Not to worry. Care for a game of cards?"

"Sure, why not."

They ate leftover Chinese food while Eames beat Arthur roundly at every card game he knew. Arthur then suggested chess, where they found they were more evenly matched. Rain and wet leaves pattered against the window as they whiled away a few hours.

Cobb and Mal had not returned by dinnertime, and Eames suggested they go out somewhere.

"Like to have dinner?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah. And walk around town or something."

"It's miserable outside."

"I'm from England. There's got to be a fall festival or some such nonsense going on around here."

"Well...there's a carnival. But I hate carnivals."

"Hate carnivals?" Eames asked. "Why on earth?"

"They're just dumb. It's like, three stupid rides in a parking lot and a bunch kids, and some assholes acting like kids."

Eames had to laugh, because Arthur made it sound dismal.

But they ended up going anyway. It turned out that Arthur was right. They sat in traffic for fifteen minutes before Arthur turned off onto one of the back-roads. There were no streetlights or cars, just a wooded area on one side, and a cornfield on the other. Arthur parked the car there, saying that this way, they wouldn't have to pay to park. 

They walked the rest of the way, and then hung around the carnival at dusk, watching people under the bright, garish lights. It was exactly as Arthur had described it.

"This is godawful," Eames said as they sat down together on a bale of hay.

Arthur laughed and said, "See?" 

"Where have the Cobbs disappeared to?"

"Some haunted hayride thing," Arthur said. "Cobb loves that sort of shit."

"Not Mal?"

"I think Mal humors him a lot. You know Mal."

"Not as well as you know her," Eames said.

"Yeah. She's probably the best friend I have."

Eames felt a sudden dread. Sometimes he got these niggling little intuitions. He wouldn't call them premonitions, but he could sometimes get a sense of trajectories, and Mal's didn't look too stable.

"Wait here, Arthur," Eames said.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but did as he was asked. Eames went to one of the shitty food stands and bought a bag of popcorn and two drinks labelled "hot mulled cider," but one sip of it assured him that it was nothing more than boiled sugar. He brought them back to Arthur anyway.

"Thanks, man," Arthur said.

Which was the kind of thing an American man said to his buddies.

 _Well of course it is,_ Eames reminded himself. _What else would he say?_

"There's a haunted house," Eames said, nodding to the garishly painted faux building front at the edge of the carnival.

"Yeah," Arthur said. "Haunted houses and stuff like that aren't too great for me. I don't respond well to people jumping out at me. Someone's likely to get their arm broken."

"Good to know," Eames said. "Come on, then, show me how you fight off an attack. This Krav Maga you're doing, I'm interested."

Arthur leveled him with a dubious gaze and took a sip of his drink. "This cider is shit."

"Yes it is. Come on, up with you. Show me something that you learned." He had no idea why he was pushing the issue, outside of the fact that he had the urge to touch Arthur. That wasn't unusual for Eames. He liked to touch people in general, when he was in the mood for it.

"Christ," Arthur said, and stood up like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Eames picked up a stick from the ground. "All right. I'm a violent madman about to attack you. Show me how you'll break my arm."

Arthur shifted awkwardly. "Well I guess... If you were to come closer to me, first I'm gonna knock your arm away like this. Then I'd go for your face, like..."

His hands were ice cold on Eames's forearm and on his jaw. He was being gentle, but there was some strength behind his touch. He felt solid. 

"I'm _actually_ going to attack you now," Eames said, and lunged at him, picking Arthur up off his feet and throwing him over his shoulder. Maybe he wanted to see how Arthur would react if someone was really threatening him, or maybe he just wanted his arms around Arthur's waist for whatever reason.

Arthur yelled, "Eames, you motherfucker!" and squirmed backwards until he could lock one arm around Eames's neck. "Put me down or I'll choke you."

Eames held on, even as Arthur tightened his arm. He wasn't bad, actually. Then he started digging a knee into Eames's chest and got his forearm right against Eames's carotid.

Eames set Arthur down onto the bale of hay, spilling popcorn everywhere. Arthur kicked Eames in the shin and said, "Asshole."

Eames sat down next to him. People were staring, unsure if they were being serious or not. For that matter, he wasn't sure if Arthur had taken him seriously. A glance at his face showed Eames that he was smirking a little, even as he was shaking his head like Eames was the biggest child in the world.

"That was pretty good," Eames said.

"You're lucky I didn't choke your stupid ass out."

"I would have tapped out."

"I still would have done it."

Arthur was sat so closely next to him, their arms were pressed together. Eames wasn't stupid, he knew when he had a crush and he could always pinpoint the moment it got bad. It was officially bad.

"You were right about this place, though," Eames said. "It is shit. And it's getting cold."

"I know, I can't feel my nose."

"Shall we head back? Leave the Cobbs to their nonsense?"

Arthur nodded. They walked back to the car in silence. Eames asked himself over and over why he had gone and touched Arthur. He'd just made it so difficult for himself, and all he could do now was pass it off as a joke.

But something always came along to give Eames perspective when he was being silly. By the end of the evening, his little flirtation with Arthur would be the least of his worries.

** ** ** **

"Fuck me running," Arthur said, trying the ignition once more. Now he'd gone and gotten him and Eames stuck out in the middle of nowhere, and he didn't know a hell of a lot about fixing cars. Not impressive. And he still didn't know what to make of Eames messing around with him like that at the carnival. What even was that? Flirting? Some military male dominance thing? Or was it just how friends joked around? Arthur didn't actually have many friends. This was a sudden realization, one he'd never considered before. Dom and Mal were his friends, but they didn't toss him around like that or really even joke with him that much.

Even though he knew it wasn't going to work, Arthur turned the key again. "This has never happened before," he said.

"That's what they all say."

He turned to Eames to see if he was kidding or if he was annoyed, but it was too dark to read his expression. There were no streetlights on these empty back-roads. 

"I'll call Dom and Mal," Arthur said. "Or roadside service or..." He checked his phone. No bars. "Fuck."

"Oh dear," Eames said, checking his own phone.

"Lots of dead zones out here in the sticks. Sorry."

"Not your fault. What next?"

Arthur looked out of the window. He knew where he was, basically. He hadn't grown up around here but he'd spent some time hanging out. "Up for a little walk?"

They crossed the street to the cornfield. Arthur figured if they got closer to the carnival, they could get service again. No other cars passed them on the dark street. 

Arthur didn't know what made him turn around. Maybe he heard something, or maybe he was going to double check to make sure he'd locked the car. But Eames turned at the same time and they both saw it.

Lit only by their phones, a figure stood by Arthur's car, dressed all in black. It seemed to be made up entirely of shadows. The rational part of Arthur's brain said, _Don't be stupid, it's a person, ask him for help._ But the part of him that vividly recalled the dream sent a shock of panic searing his nerves because-

 _Shit, SHIT, it has no_ face _, it's the dark figure and it has no fucking face--_

Eames's hand gripped his arm, fingers digging in through his coat, so he knew that Eames saw the same thing. 

The figure raised its hand and Arthur saw that it was holding something. Just like in the dream, some indiscernible yet completely menacing object.

Yet, his mind quickly registered one difference. In the dream, the figure had wielded something small, that fit into its two long fingers. Here, in reality...

_Gun._

He grabbed Eames's arm in return, tugged him to turn around, and pulled him into the cornfield. One glance over his shoulder showed him the figure in pursuit.

"Shit," Eames panted behind him, gripping his hand.

They crashed through rows of high corn, running blind in near total darkness. Dry, thick leaves caught on his jacket and whipped around his face. He felt one slice him across the cheek. Arthur knew they were making all the noise in the world, that their cell phones were still lit and it would be easy enough for anyone to follow them, living or dead.

 _Shut up, don't be stupid,_ his mind ordered as he ran. 

"Wait," Eames whispered, tugging on his hand. "Wait, stop."

Arthur didn't want to stop; adrenaline urged him to keep running. Eames tugged on his hand and pulled back until Arthur had no other choice. He turned to tell him to keep going, but Eames pulled him up close and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh. We're making too much noise."

Which was true, really. But Arthur's heart was beating wildly, the nerves in his legs jumping like they were being electrocuted. The clouds parted just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight, and he saw Eames with perfect clarity in the near-dark. 

Arthur nodded and let Eames pull him to a crouching position. Both phones had shut down by then. They huddled together, quiet, and listened.

The corn rustled a little in the wind. The rustling turned into the sound of someone coming through the field, footsteps light, but getting closer. Arthur distinctly heard someone breathing, which implied someone _living_ , but that didn't change the fact that it was the exact figure they'd each seen in the dream. _And it has no face,_ his brain supplied.

A light shone through the corn, throwing long shadows everywhere, and Eames gripped his arm again. They looked at each other, silently deciding to run again if the light got any closer.

It did. And finally the light swung in their direction, almost blinding. For a second, Arthur saw the figure behind the light. And then they were running once more, cutting through the field, with the figure in pursuit.

Arthur got turned around. They'd been heading south to the main road when they began. Now, he had no idea which way he was going. 

_Think, think!_ Eames was counting on him to know his way around. 

He looked up. The clouds had parted enough that he could make out a few stars. He glanced to the right and saw the Big Dipper.

"This way," he whispered, turning left.

Eames followed without asking. Arthur pulled him through the corn, running south. He still heard the other in pursuit, close behind. But he didn't dare look over his shoulder to see how close.

Arthur could run a good distance. He was just getting winded when he saw lights over the rows of corn. The sound of traffic grew louder. 

When they crashed out of the other side of the cornfield, they were on the main road. The lights from shops and cars almost blinded him. He didn't stop running.

"Come on," he said to Eames, still not looking back. They hopped over a small fence and onto the sidewalk, where they continued running.

About a quarter of a mile up the road, Arthur saw the 7-11. Then, finally, he slowed to a stop and looked over his shoulder.

The figure was gone. A few people passed by on the sidewalk, making their way to various shops or restaurants. It was the liveliest this part of town ever got. 

Arthur stopped and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Beside him, Eames did the same. His skin prickled all over with cooling sweat and his right hip had started to ache a little. His lungs felt tight, dry and hot.

"What the fuck," Eames said between breaths, and "Fucking hell!"

"Fuck," Arthur agreed.

The straightened up and looked at each other. Eames's eyes were wide, his face flushed. He was smiling.

Arthur surprised himself with a short laugh. Jesus, what was funny? They'd just gotten chased through a cornfield by a faceless dark figure from their dreams. How was that in any way funny?

But then Eames was laughing, too. Arthur doubled up again, hands on his knees, unable to hold it back. It wasn't funny. It was fucked up and scary and _hilarious_. The two of them stood on the sidewalk, slapping their thighs and unable to catch their breath. 

"Fucking Christ!" Eames said. "Fucking hell!"

"We got chased by a ghost," Arthur said, and they both lost it again.

They tapered off slowly as they made their way to the 7-11, beset by hysterical giggles every few steps. They must have looked drunk. People gave them a wide berth.

In the light of the parking lot, Arthur reached for his phone. It had service again. Before he could dial Mal's cell, Eames reached out and brushed his thumb across Arthur's cheek, startling him again.

"You've got a cut here, love," Eames said.

 _Love._ That's what Eames called just about everyone.

"From the corn," Arthur said. Which got them both laughing again.

Arthur dialed Mal, and told her what had happened. He told them to check the car before getting in, to be careful, and to pick them up at the 7-11 on the main road.

Mal said, "One question, Arthur. I hope you will understand why I have to ask this but we need to be sure. Are you certain that you didn't both imagine this dark figure?"

The question startled him. He took a second to think before answering. "No, I'm pretty sure we didn't. Look, I'll call to have my car towed. We'll find out tomorrow what's wrong with it. I mean, it's possible that no one did anything to my car. Maybe it just up and died on me, and the person who chased us was some dumbass trying to scare people. I mean, that's a likely scenario. But there was definitely someone there."

"All right," she said. "Don't go anywhere. We'll be around to get you in a few minutes."

"Be careful," he told her again.

When he ended the call, Eames wasn't laughing anymore. "She suspects that another side effect of the broken PASIV is hallucinations, am I right?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's something to think about, definitely. But I've seen things that weren't real before when compounds got messed up, and I'm pretty sure that's not what's happening here. And even if it was—which I'm sure it's not—we still need to continue as if it was totally real. That's the only way to be safe."

They sat together on the curb outside of the 7-11, close together, and waited for their ride.

** ** ** **

Eames woke to a light knocking on his bedroom door the next morning. He sprang awake and reached for a gun that wasn't there before remembering where he was: a tiny cottage on a lakefront in eastern New York. He hadn't thought it worth the bother to get a weapon onto an international flight. He also hadn't expected to get chased through a cornfield on a simple job with the Cobbs and Arthur. They just didn't typically run into things like this. A mistake he'd never make again. 

Eames pulled the coverlet up to his chest and said, "Yes?"

The door creaked open a crack. "Sorry," Arthur said. "I need to use your bathroom. Mal's gagging in the other one."

"Yes, by all means," Eames said. 

Arthur squeezed through the door without opening it all the way, as if that would somehow disturb Eames less, and then pulled it closed with the softest of clicks. He walked quietly into the bathroom. Eames checked the clock. It was 7:20 AM. Vague, dull light seeped in through the part in the curtains. Another rainy, windy day. He awkwardly listened to Arthur peeing in the toilet, washing his hands and then, bizarrely, brushing his teeth. Well, it was morning, after all, maybe Arthur was ready to be up and about. This was his usual time to wake up.

"Sorry," Arthur said again when he came out. In the dim, gray light, he could see that Arthur was wearing long pajama bottoms and a light t shirt. It was chilly in the room. Eames thought he must be cold.

"Do you want to use the shower?" Eames asked.

"No, I can wait." He went to leave.

"Arthur," Eames called. He didn't know why. He had nothing in mind to say.

"Yeah?"

"You don't think we imagined it last night, do you?" It was a stupid question. He knew it had been real, and he knew that Arthur knew.

"No," Arthur said, turning back to him. "There was definitely someone there. I guess the question is, was it just some idiot, or was it someone involved with the PASIV?"

"The man who killed Nathan Eliot," Eames said. "And who has possibly heard that the PASIV somehow recorded his death."

"Possible. More possible than ghosts, anyway."

"I wonder if anyone else has died while using one," Eames said, just to keep talking.

"In the military, once or twice, I think. But they were immediately unhooked from it, whereas with Eliot, it was left running. Just left behind. I haven't heard of anyone else, though. There aren't that many PASIVs around."

"Hmm," Eames said. "I saw a man almost die on a PASIV once, but he was revived. Brain dead afterwards though. Hey Arthur, don't go anywhere, yeah? Won't be a mo'. I've got to use the loo as well."

"Oh," Arthur said, surprised. "Sure, okay."

Eames went for a pee himself, then brushed his teeth. If he was going to be talking to Arthur, after all...

When he came back, Arthur had parted the curtains a bit more and was looking outside, watching the wind whip leaves around, and rain splash into the lake. He came to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Eames sat next to him. Arthur smelled good, like sleep and skin and toothpaste. His hair was all messy curls over his ears and the nape of his neck. 

"Err," Eames said. "Where were we?"

"Umm, you saw someone crash on a PASIV once."

"Yes, that's right," Eames said. But he could think of nothing to follow up. So he sat there in silence, waiting for Arthur to say, or do, anything.

Which of course Arthur wouldn't. Eames knew that. Arthur had kissed him once, a few years ago. Eames had gently pushed him away – for his own good. By now, he knew Arthur well enough to know that he didn't make the same mistake twice. And it was a mistake. They both knew it.

"You know," Eames said, "I've got to go back to England after this. That's just... you know, it's where I've got to be. Where all of my contacts are. I mean, I couldn't... I couldn't just stay here, is what I'm saying."

Arthur looked at him, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. "Yeah, I know. What..."

Eames kissed him. 

Arthur made a startled little noise and pulled back. He studied Eames closely for a second, while Eames thought, _Mistake. Huge mistake._

Then Arthur said, "Okay," and kissed him back.

Eames did what he'd wanted to do since he saw Arthur in the airport: he slid his fingers into Arthur's sleep-tangled hair. 

"You should always have your hair like this," Eames said, when they stopped to breathe. "You look like a painting, you're like, like a..." He didn't know what. Christ, he was in so much trouble.

Arthur laughed and kissed him again, pushing him backwards onto the bed so that they both had to scoot up. Arthur wasted no time slinging a leg over Eames, fitting their bodies together, and kissing him again.

This was new. This Arthur was sexually confident – fucking hell, sexually _aggressive_ , tonguing Eames's teeth and running a hand up his shirt, pressing his body against Eames everywhere he could fit.

And Eames still wanted more. He wanted skin, to see how they felt together, to taste, and feel textures. He urged Arthur up and ran a hand under his shirt. That was where Arthur froze, his confidence visibly sucked dry. He wasn't overt about it, but Eames read people for a living, and it was apparent in the suddenly stiff line of his back, the tightness of his jaw. 

So Eames took his own shirt off first, hoping Arthur would quit with the sudden shyness and follow suit.

Arthur did, but his eyebrows were pulled together again, his mouth, still red from kissing, pressed into an unhappy line. Eames saw why right away.

Of course, he'd seen Arthur's burn scars before. When they'd first met, when the scars were a lot fresher and he'd had to help patch Arthur up. This was nothing new to him, but the context was new. He got that. The scar started above Arthur's right elbow and went up to where his neck and shoulder met, just below the neckline of most t shirts. Eames had one brief, unsettling image of flames licking at Arthur's skin, burning through layer after layer. He banished the thought. 

Arthur was looking down at him in defiance, eyes half-lidded, daring him to say something.

Eames didn't say anything. He drew Arthur down and kissed his shoulder. Arthur tensed at first, as Eames kissed up the side of his neck. He guided Arthur's head back and kissed his throat, and soon had him relaxed and sighing again.

When Arthur pressed him back down and fitted himself against him once more, skin against skin, Eames felt like he was the one being burned alive. 

And worse, it felt familiar. Achingly familiar, bone deep, like stepping into a home he'd lived in all his life. He thought, for the first time, _My Arthur. Finally._

And then _Fuck, I am in so much trouble, have to book my flight back to England today, this morning, the second we're done here._

But then Arthur's hand was reaching down his pants, pushing them impatiently down past his hips. Arthur showed no hesitation this time when Eames did the same to him, even though he had a matching burn scar on his right hip. This one started on the outside of his thigh, twisted around a few inches to the front, and went up to his prominent hip bone. Eames skated his fingers lightly over it, before letting his hand wander to the small of Arthur's back and pulling him in closer. 

"Arthur," Eames said, overwhelmed.

"Mmm," Arthur answered.

"Arthur, I've got to go back to England."

Arthur stopped. Stopped kissing, stopped petting his cold hand down Eames's front, stopped riding up against his hip. He backed off, leaning on one elbow, and shook his hair out of his eyes. "What, right now?"

"No, love. But soon. I just want to be clear, on the same page, I'm just telling you – telling you so you know. We both know. This is...this isn't..."

"Yeah yeah," Arthur said, "no big deal, we're not running off to elope, it's just sex, you live in England. Okay, cool, are we done? Can we get to the part with your hand on my dick?"

"Oh, yes," Eames said, obliging him. "Yes, right away."

Arthur was lying, and Eames knew it. But maybe they were both lying, so that made him perhaps not as terrible a person after all. At least they were on even ground.

But then it was Arthur putting his hands on him, driving him to distraction with his long, strong fingers, while all Eames could do was hold onto Arthur's hips and try not to be too loud. He heard the shower start up in Dom and Mal's bathroom, so he was sure that the rest of the household would be able to hear them, too. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. When he looked up at Arthur, he saw that pleased half-smirk on his child-soft mouth, his eyes smug. Smug was a good look on Arthur. Eames reached up to his hair again and pulled him down, trying to silence himself with more kisses. 

"Arthur, god," he whispered, when he stopped for air. "You're killing me."

Arthur laughed, soft and fond, and Eames had to lean up and bury his face into Arthur's neck when he came. He only realized he was biting when Arthur made an urgent noise in his ear and tightened up all over. 

"Jesus, you vampire," Arthur said.

Eames caught his breath and said, "Sorry, sorry. Wow."

Arthur rolled away from him and seemed intent on taking care of himself without Eames's involvement.

"That won't do," Eames said. 

He carefully turned to lean over Arthur, making sure to telegraph his intentions. If Arthur didn't respond well to people jumping out at him, it was likely he wasn't comfortable being pinned underneath someone by surprise, either. But Arthur just smiled, leaned up to bite at Eames's mouth, and pushed his hand downward.

"No, darling," Eames said, and started kissing down his chest. 

"Oh," Arthur said, in a soft, surprised voice. "Eames you don't have to. I didn't for you." But his hands were on Eames's shoulders, urging him down regardless.

"Hush, it's not the Olympics. Besides, I like it." Which was absolutely true, he did like it. He just liked it _more_ today, with Arthur, getting to wrap his hands around Arthur's hips and taste him. Feeling Arthur fight for control, glancing up to see him biting his fist to keep from making too much noise. It was good, _too_ good, and once Eames was rational again, he was going to leave this bed and get home before the good got any worse. Just as soon as he was done.

But then Arthur came with a gasp, and instead of leaving, Eames crawled up beside him and pulled him in close. He watched the rain and wind splatter wet, red leaves against the window. And for the first time, fell asleep with Arthur in his arms. He knew he was in big trouble, but he couldn't yet abandon the peace he felt.

Peace, he knew from experience, was always short-lived.

** ** ** **

Arthur was the first one to get up. He needed a shower in the worst way and it was already later when he was normally out of bed. Mal and Dom weren't up yet, so he had a few minutes to get out of Eames's room without being obvious about it. He didn't feel ashamed, but he didn't like to broadcast his personal decisions to anyone, either.

But first, he took a few minutes to lean up on one elbow and watch Eames sleep. Maybe that was creepy, but he'd done it with his last boyfriend, too. 

Eames had no angles. All of his lines were soft. His eyes were round, and large when they were open. Closed, his long eyelashes fanned out like shadows. His nose was a gently sloped line, his lips all curves. The angle of his jaw was the only firm feature of his face. Yet the rest of him was so hard with muscle, compact and covered in tawny, coarse hair. Arthur leaned down and rubbed his lips over Eames's mouth, experimentally, just to feel their texture. 

Eames tightened his arms, pulling on Arthur's shoulders and hips to draw him closer. It sounded like he said Arthur's name, but Arthur wasn't sure.

Well, he couldn't stay like this all morning, fooling himself that anything real was happening here. He worked his way out of Eames's arms without waking him, then gave him a friendly pat on the thigh as he left the bed. He would have given more—a kiss, maybe—if Eames hadn't made his intentions perfectly clear. Arthur had no illusions. He'd wanted Eames since the first time he saw him, but he was practical enough to realize that this could never be a long-term thing. 

So he had his shower, made coffee, and then called the car shop where he'd had his car towed last night. The mechanic told him, with no small amount of glee, that someone had tampered with his car "about as much as a person could tamper in a short time." They had unplugged some kind of trans shifter thing, and removed the main relay and fuel pump fuse. He urged Arthur to call the police and make a report.

Arthur considered this. Dom and Mal would probably want him to, because they had nothing to hide. "We work in silence, not in secret," they were fond of saying. But Arthur also knew that the police would take his report and then do nothing. Even if he told them about being chased through the cornfield, he had nothing to identify their pursuer. And anyway, cops around here chased people around the countryside for fun. They would probably find the whole thing hilarious.

The conclusion he came to was that they had to get out of here. Pack up today, leave in the morning before whoever it was followed them home one. 

He was considering this when Mal came out of her room, dressed but still looking pale and sleepy. She kissed Arthur good morning without a word, pulled a chair up to the kitchenette bar, and rested her head against her folded arms.

"Water?" Arthur said.

"With lemon, please."

He fixed her a glass of lemon water and took the seat across from her.

"Someone fucked around with my car last night," he said. "Removed a bunch of things that make it start."

She lifted her head to answer, then stopped and frowned. "Arthur, are you fucking Eames?"

His jaw dropped, because how the fuck did she always know his secrets? Or had they been that loud? "No!" he said. "Well, yes. A little. How did you..."

She reached over the bar and pulled his collar down. Anyone else would have gotten their fingers broken. Mal just got her hand slapped away.

"That is quite a love bite on your neck, and unless our PASIV ghost gave it to you, I can't think of who else."

"Maybe I gave it to myself."

She clicked her teeth at him. "Arthur, what do you hope will happen with you and Eames?"

"It already happened," he said. "It's not a big deal."

"Make sure you really believe that."

"Whatever. Anyway, someone fucking with my car? Waving guns around, chasing us all over town? Maybe we have more important things to focus on?"

"Yes, of course. Perhaps it's time to call the police."

"They're not gonna really do anything," Arthur said, already tired of this conversation. "We should just get out of here."

"Are you thinking it's one of the people involved in Eliot's murder?"

"I mean, it doesn't necessarily have to be. You get stuff like this happening all over this town, especially this time of year. But it is a little weird that he looked so similar to the person we all saw in the PASIV. Probably not good to multiply causes."

He heard Eames get up and start the shower. He purposely avoided Mal's eyes. 

Dom got up shortly after. Making breakfast for both of them while telling Dom what the mechanic said gave Arthur something to focus on. Until Dom said, "Why isn't Eames up yet? Does he know about this?"

"No," Arthur said. "I only found out this morning."

"Well, go knock on his door," Dom said.

Arthur left his eggs and toast on the table and went to Eames's room.

"Yeah, come in," Eames said.

Arthur opened the door to see Eames packing his bags. "Oh," he said. "Umm, so when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow," Eames said. "I like to pack early, have everything prepared." 

"Yeah, I see. Anyway, Dom wants to talk more about last night. It turns out that someone did fuck with my car. So that whole thing was on purpose."

"Truthfully, Arthur, I think we should all walk away from this entire thing. It had nothing to do with us to begin with. It was a curiosity, and one we're never going to get to the bottom of. I suggest you all leave that PASIV alone. I know Mal wants to keep using it, but I don't see why. Sometimes Mal pushes too hard."

Arthur eased the door closed behind him. "It's not like that."

"No? Mal has always wanted to take things that extra step further."

"No," Arthur said. "I mean, yeah, she does. But Dom's worse. I know it doesn't look like that, but when it's just us, he is. We're doing two-layered dreams now, and Dom wants to try for three. Mal keeps telling him it's too unstable. He keeps telling her to refine the compounds to make them more stable and it's just... It's not really Mal. She knows when to quit. Dom doesn't."

"Well," Eames said, going back to stuffing his clothes into his suitcase, "I suppose you've had more time to study their methods than I have. I advise you to be careful, Arthur, because one way or another, they go too far. And this experiment has gone long enough without yielding any results."

"Is that why you're in such a hurry to get out of here?"

Eames snapped his suitcase shut and turned to Arthur, his expression closed and unreadable. "Yes. I told you I was leaving."

"I know. And that's fine with me. You seem like you're expecting it not to be. Whatever's getting you upset, I'm not taking responsibility for it. I didn't do anything wrong."

"No," Eames said. "You didn't." And he left it at that.

"Well, whatever. Come out when you're ready. We're leaving tomorrow, too. Are you staying the night again or should we expect you to leave tonight?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Yeah, get the fuck out," Arthur said. "Of course I don't want you to leave, why would I? Why are you making this awkward? Stay for dinner, stay the night, and tomorrow I'll drive you to the airport. Stop being an asshole." With that, Arthur turned and left, closing the door behind him.

** ** ** **

Eames stayed the rest of the day, which he had been planning on doing anyway, no matter what Arthur had thought. And it turned out that he was extremely thankful he'd decided to stay. 

Most of the day was uneventful, but Eames would later remember the little details before the incident, when he looked back. Dom had driven Arthur down to the motor shop to pick up his car, when Mal pulled him aside and said, "I want to show you something funny."

She took him into the kitchenette and pulled out a long, elegant wallet. From it she took a photo, creased with age. In it, a young Arthur, maybe thirteen, had his arm tightly around Mal, who was a few years older than him. They stood in the sunshine in a back yard, probably Arthur's. They were of a height, but the difference in years and experience was plain in their eyes. Mal was coltish and gorgeous, with long, wavy hair. She looked cool and sophisticated, but her eyes were unmistakably fond.

Arthur's grin was almost unbearably happy as he held onto her. He had his best friend with him and all was right with the world. His hair was slightly long and he was wearing the t- shirt of some rock band. He looked so different, and yet exactly the same. Eames couldn't help smiling back at Arthur's childish happiness. 

Mal tucked the photo back into her wallet, and, still smiling, said, "Please don't hurt him."

Without planning on it, Eames told her, "Don't _you_ hurt him."

She gave him a surprised, confused look, and let the subject drop. Arthur and Dom came back with two pizzas, and some plain flatbread for Mal.

Dinner was quiet until Arthur said, "Oh, it's probably nothing, but I was doing some research again about the case. Coroner's reports and such."

"Eliot died from potassium chloride," Mal said. "We know that."

"Yeah, but I was looking at Toro's report, the suicide. I don't know, I just felt like it. I googled the coroner who signed it and couldn't find him."

Eames looked up from his slice of pizza. "Even I used a real coroner's signature on my one. Are you thinking it's faked?"

Arthur shrugged. "Maybe there's just no information on this particular coroner."

"You know how unlikely that is," Eames said. "There are phone numbers, official channels."

"Yeah," Arthur said, "maybe, but what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, it's weird and all, but it's their business. We're not the FBI. It's like you said. We should just let this whole thing go and get the hell out of here."

There was silence for a moment and then Dom said, "We're still going to hold onto the PASIV, though."

For the first time that evening, Arthur met Eames's eyes and smiled as if to say, _'See?_ '

The three of them spent the rest of the evening packing. Eames's flight was set for noon the following day. He had offered to take a cab, but Arthur insisted that he would drive him. It meant leaving at 7 AM, but he was all right with that. Eames wasn't looking forward to a long, quiet car ride with Arthur, but there was no polite way to turn him down.

Later, Eames lay in his bed in the little cottage. The sheets still smelled like Arthur. He'd never be able to sleep like that, and that was why he was still awake when he heard creaking in the ceiling.

Eames had grown up in an old house and he knew the kinds of noises they made, especially on wet, windy days. He also knew what rodents in the attic sounded like. This was not that kind of noise. He had noticed, on the first day, that there was a small crawl space in the cottage. But he had not given it much thought. Now he was. There were two entrances to it. One was in his own closet, and the other was in the corner of the sitting room, where Arthur was sleeping.

He rolled silently out of his bed, again cursing his decision not to bring a gun. The floorboards creaked when he put his feet down, but that couldn't be helped. The creaking above him stopped, as if someone was listening for movement. Or perhaps looking down through the slats in the ceiling. His room was dark, but not dark enough to mask all movement. Also couldn't be helped.

In just his pants, he crept across the cold floor and left the bedroom. The door creaked, as it had this morning when Arthur had paid him a visit.

Arthur wasn't sleeping on the futon. Eames scanned the room for him. The lights came on and he saw Arthur standing in the center of the room in his pajamas, with his hands raised. Behind him, the faceless, dark figure held a gun to his head. Arthur should have looked scared, but instead he looked angry, maybe disappointed.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. And: _Not Arthur, please._

The face, he saw once his eyes adjusted, wasn't a featureless mound of flesh, but rather a stocking pulled over the man's head. 

"All right," he said, quietly, soothing, raising his own hands. "You're here for the PASIV, I think?"

The man didn't answer, but Arthur nodded subtly. The man shoved him with the gun, pushing him forward a few steps. 

"Go and get it for me and everyone will walk away from this. I know there are more people in the house, so I'm going to stand here and wait."

Eames knew better than to believe that they would walk away from it. This was either George Malick, or Toro, who had faked his death. Eames had seen a picture of Toro, who was bald. He took a closer look. This man had hair. Malick, then. He had killed Eliot, and everyone in the cottage knew that. 

"It's in the next room," Eames said. "And it's of no use to us. It doesn't even run."

Malick might even have believed that, but he wasn't going to take chances. He'd killed before. Doing it again would cause him no problem.

"Let's go," Malick said, nudging Arthur forward again.

Eames led them to the Cobbs' room, where they kept the PASIV. He opened the door to see Mal standing in her dressing gown, holding a gun. Dom was scrambling out of the bed. Eames motioned for Mal to put the gun away. She shook her head. Malick crowded them all into the bedroom.

"Drop it," Mal said to him.

Of course Malick didn't. Now that he knew where the PASIV was, he didn't need anyone here. He grabbed Arthur's arm to use him as a shield.

Arthur turned and struck like a viper. He swatted Malick's hand away. Malick fired. The bullet went into the floor. Arthur drove his palm into Malick's jaw, snapping his head back. The next sound was the sharp snap of ligaments as Arthur jerked his arm up under Malick's elbow. Malick screamed.

Eames drove a low side-kick into Malick's knee, breaking it. Malick crumbled and Eames stood on his wrist. When Malick's hand opened, Eames kicked the gun to Arthur, who picked it up.

Even with two joints snapped almost in half, Malick still tried to scramble away, counting on them to not shoot. He got as far as the bedroom door when Eames kicked him in the ribs. He heard them crunch.

He was not prepared for the second intruder, and reacted only on instinct. This one—Toro, it had to be—charged in, taking aim at Mal. Eames grabbed his gun-hand and spun him one-eighty. They were both facing the kitchenette when Toro fired. The bullet flew to the kitchenette and blew apart the pumpkin Dom had set on the table.

Eames got Toro in a chokehold, still gripping his gun-arm and keeping it out of the way.

"Drop your weapon," Arthur said. He had Malick's gun pointed at Toro's head.

Toro released his grip. The gun clattered to the floor. Eames put him to sleep anyway.

Mal sat gingerly on the bed while Dom came to sit by her. He put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off, too stunned to do anything but shake. Arthur released the breath he was holding and took a moment to lean down with his hands braced on his knees, collecting himself. Then he straightened up, shook his head, and looked at Eames. They gave each other a small 'well done' nod. Then Arthur reached for the phone.

** ** ** **

Arthur wasn't necessarily glad that Eames had missed his flight. Actually, he missed the rest of the flights out that day, and they all spent the night at a hotel. Between having to deal with the local police, feeding them bullshit about the PASIV (hiding the cannulas, pretending it hooked up to the head via electrodes,) Eames feeding them bullshit with his fake passport, filling out reports, and telling the story over and over again, they were pretty much stuck.

Arthur was glad, not because he needed Eames to stay around for an extra day, but because the incident at least gave them something to talk about on the ride back to the airport. He realized deep down that this was fucked up and that he should really straighten out his priorities. 

They re-told everything to each other for the first hour of the drive, pointing out details, things they'd seen from their perspective, how they had felt, and what they thought of each other's performance.

"You were magnificent, darling," Eames told him. "The Krav Maga that you learned came in handy."

"If you weren't there, we'd be dead," Arthur said. "We didn't see or even hear Toro come in."

Then Eames went silent, thinking. After a few minutes he asked, "Have you thought about that, though? How they got in. Well, I suppose not 'how,' since they probably broke the lock on the basement. Not 'how,' but _when_."

Arthur had known this was coming, because he had given it some thought. They only time they had all been out of the house was when Dom and Mal were out on a date, and he and Eames were at the carnival. And then, subsequently, in the cornfield. 

"Well," Arthur said, "one of them, probably Toro, got in first. Then Malick raced back, and..."

"Raced back?" Eames said. "You're saying that he chased us first, and then when he didn't catch us, managed to get back to the cottage and hide in the attic before we returned?"

"It's not impossible."

"But it's implausible. We didn't wait that long before Dom and Mal were there, and it was a short ride back."

"You're saying that it wasn't either of those guys who chased us," Arthur said. When Eames didn't reply, he laughed and said, "So, what? A ghost, Eames? Come on."

"No, of course not."

They pulled into the international airport. Arthur paid for parking, shoving Eames's hand away when he kept trying to give him money. As he drove around looking for a place to park, he realized he wasn't quite ready to end the conversation. For the first time, he wished, with abandon, that Eames wasn't leaving yet. He enjoyed conversations like these, where someone argued with him. Especially when he knew he was right.

"Okay," Arthur said, "getting back to that night. Even if you're right. Even if they were in the house while we were at the carnival, and that wasn't either of them chasing us, then it was probably just some dumbass out acting like a fool during the Halloween festival."

"Mmm," Eames said, not quite an agreement. "It's just strange how he looked exactly like the dream."

"If that's even the case, then it would have been just our perception. We used the PASIV and it obviously fucks up everyone who tries it. We're not perfect. We got spooked."

"And speaking of," Eames said, as they got out of the car, "what about the PASIV?"

"Dom's going to keep it."

"I know that. But what, really, is wrong with it? By what mechanism is it malfunctioning?"

"Well," Arthur said, "it's just not something we figured out yet. Dom and Mal, they'll – eventually they'll get it. Even if they have to take the whole thing apart and put it back together. They synchronization chip, it..."

"It recorded the last moments of a dying man, Arthur," Eames said. "That's horrible. And it's wonderful, and terrifying, and – doesn't it just make you think? What becomes of our thoughts when we die? What becomes of our consciousness?"

"Eames, there is a huge difference between recorded thoughts and actual consciousness. You can write down your last thoughts, too. That doesn't make you a ghost stuck in a book."

"No?"

Arthur glanced at him as they entered the airport terminal. It was hard to tell when he was being serious.

Eames gave him a small smile. "No, of course it doesn't. But isn't it interesting to think about?"

"I guess," Arthur said. "I don't know. I don't think much about that. I'm alive, so that's what I tend to focus on."

"You've really never thought about what comes next? Or perhaps what came before? Past lives and all of that? Someone you may have known in a different time?" Eames put down his suitcase and turned to face Arthur. "Someone whom you've met and thought, 'I know him.'"

"That's just a trick your mind plays on you. We recognize archetypes, or sometimes when we meet people we find attractive, they look familiar to us because they _are_ familiar – because they display physical attributes that we already like."

"Not exactly what I'm talking about," Eames said, "but all right."

Arthur decided to take the bait. "Why? Does that happen with you? You've had those feelings about certain people?"

"Yes, of course. I've met perfect strangers and felt straight away that I knew them. That I could trust them."

"You're a forger. You're just really good at reading people. And in the military, too, you fine-tune that instinct, for survival."

"You have no romance," Eames said.

"Why? Because I don't believe in ghosts?"

Eames didn't answer. Instead, he reached out with both hands. Arthur didn't know what to do, so he didn't do anything. Eames was staring at him, his mouth quirked in a smile, his eyes soft and fond. He ran the knuckles of both hands over Arthur's cheeks, then cupped his head with one hand.

 _Oh, kissing now,_ Arthur figured, and got with the program.

Kissing in an airport – how was that not romantic? He was confused, even as Eames parted his lips gently with his tongue. He knew this was a bad idea, as always. But still. Eames's mouth was amazing. _Eames_ was amazing and Arthur couldn't help getting lost. Again. Eames still had his hand in Arthur's hair. Arthur didn't know what to do with his own hands, so he risked putting one on the small of Eames's back, to pull him closer.

And Eames pulled away.

"I've got to go," Eames said, still with his mouth pressed against Arthur's lips. 

"Yeah, all right. Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry." Eames rubbed his thumb, gently, intimately, across Arthur's bottom lip.

Arthur found it hard to look away from him. 

"You're lovely," Eames said.

"Yeah. But."

Eames didn't move his hands away from Arthur's face. "No. No 'but'."

This time, Arthur leaned in to kiss him. It was the first time he'd initiated anything since, well, since that embarrassing first time when Eames had gently told him "No." It was soft, maybe a little hesitant, just a lingering press of the lips.

"I'll see you again soon, yeah?" Eames said when Arthur pulled away.

"Probably."

Eames took both of his hands and squeezed them. "Arthur, be careful, all right? Just...keep your eyes open and be careful. With all the experiments and such. Just be mindful of how far it's going."

 _'Of how far they're going,_ ' is what Arthur got from that. "Eames, it's not like I just go hooking myself up to every..."

"I know. And you can take care of yourself, I know that, too. Just something to think about. All right?"

"Yeah. Sure, all right." Arthur wasn't sure how he would go about being careful. It was dreamshare; it was always unpredictable. He would be as careful as he always was.

"Goodbye, darling," Eames said. Then he let go of Arthur's hands and walked towards the check-in.

"Eames," Arthur called after him. 

Eames turned back.

"Happy Halloween."

Eames smiled, gave him a half wave, then turned away and kept walking.

 _One day,_ Arthur thought, _you're not going to walk away from me._ He didn't wait around to watch him leave. 

** ** ** **


End file.
